


Bless me well n’ lucky, for I won’t be back ‘till I return

by voices_in_my_head



Category: The Gentlemen (2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, I felt like Guy Ritchie would be disappointed in me if I didn't write some smut, Ray and Fletcher are exes and you can't tell me otherwise, it's what he would have wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23603623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voices_in_my_head/pseuds/voices_in_my_head
Summary: "“So, he gave the Russians all the intel they needed about me, then when the first attempt on my life didn’t go as planned, decided he’d first get money from me, and then a second payment from the Russians?” Mickey summarized, to which Ray nodded. “He’s a greedy little cunt, isn’t he?”Ray nodded again."
Relationships: Raymond Smith/Fletcher
Comments: 26
Kudos: 191





	Bless me well n’ lucky, for I won’t be back ‘till I return

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this fic just begged to be written. I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks, Guy Ritchie, you gave us everything we didn't know we needed in a gangsters film.

Ray had honestly thought he’d never hear Mickey’s voice again. But no, while Coach was saving his life, his boys were saving Mickey’s, though in a very roundabout way and any other day, that little display would have cost them their hides, but as it was… Mickey had been feeling magnanimous and everyone got to live.

Fletcher, though…

“So, he gave the Russians all the intel they needed about me, then when the first attempt on my life didn’t go as planned, decided he’d first get money from me, and then a second payment from the Russians?” Mickey summarized, to which Ray nodded. “He’s a greedy little cunt, isn’t he?”

Ray nodded again. If Ray had been bad at his job and never noticed Fletcher following them, twenty million pounds really wouldn’t have been asking for much compared to all the information he was giving them. Unfortunately, Ray was not bad at his job.

“One thing does surprise me,” Mickey said, glass in one hand, eyes glinting, but he didn’t continue right away.

Ray waited a few moments in silence, expecting Mickey to simple resume the conversation, but when that didn’t happen, he said, “what surprises you, boss?”

“I’m not surprised he made a deal with the Russians about me. I am surprised he didn’t try to protect you from them.”

Ray blinked, forcing himself not to react visibly in any other way.

Mickey raised an eyebrow, “you two used to be together, no?”

“That was a long time ago,” Ray answered.

“Mhm,” Mickey said and took a gulp from his glass.

“If you think I was working with him-” Ray started but Mickey stopped him, waving his glass around.

“No, no, I don’t doubt your loyalty. Maybe I should but I don’t. I fully believe Fletcher was working on his own. His entanglement with you simply makes me…” Mickey paused, apparently searching for the right word, “unsure on how to deal with him.”

“He sold you out. And then he was going to rob you. There’s only one way to deal with him,” Ray said and the words didn’t feel forced at all. His relationship with Fletcher had ended a long time ago, and even if it hadn’t… some lines shouldn’t be crossed.

“You know,” Mickey said and paused. “I think you’re just as surprised as I am that he was willing to forego your life.”

Ray breathed noisily from his noise. “Whatever we had… it’s been done for some time.”

Mickey shrugged, “what can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic.”

If it was anyone else, Ray would have sent them a look. But this was his boss who yes, was very romantic when it came to his wife, but nowhere else in his life. So Ray waited him out in silence.

“Do you want him dead?” Mickey asked, seriously.

Ray clenched his jaw, “he deserves to die.”

“That wasn’t an answer to my question.”

Ray rubbed his brow.

“Come on,” Mickey said, gesturing to the chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

Ray did as told and sat down.

“You should kill Fletcher.”

“I know. In fact, what he deserves is a very painful sort of death. Yet… As I said before, I don’t doubt your loyalty, Ray.”

Ray frowned, “do you think I’ll be going against you if you kill him? ‘Cuz like I said, boss, we’ve been over for some time. And even if we hadn’t… he deserves to die for what he did.”

“See, you say this now, but matters with the heart… they’re not that simple.”

Ray opened his mouth, really close to saying _“he isn’t Ros”_ but decided there was a chance that could go down very badly and closed it without saying anything.

“He’s a good investigator. Perhaps not as good as you, but you do have other responsibilities.”

“You wanna offer him a job?” Ray asked, not even trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Stories are already being told, Ray. I’ve dealt with Matthew, but I still need to deal with the Russian. And after that… I’m sure after this clusterfuck, some cunts will decide that they can mess with me. Fletcher can find out just who exactly those cunts are.”

“So can I,” Ray replied, perhaps more ardently than usual.

“I know you can, Ray. But like I said, you have other responsibilities. Despite everything, Matthew wasn’t wrong. Once one location was exposed, they all were. We’re going to need to forge new contacts, build new greenhouses… I need you on this.”

Ray nodded. Then… “Boss,” he started, but didn’t say anything right away.

“You’re wondering why I don’t just walk away now? It’s true; although I’ve suffered a severe cut from this fucking fiasco, I still have enough money to retire to some very nice place.”

Ray nodded; he had been wondering that.

Mickey leaned forward, staring intently at him. “You know I’m not emotional about money, Ray. But I am fucking emotional about my pride. I worked very hard to get where I am and I’m not walking away without my deserved share of the fucking pie.”

Ray nodded again. He’d guessed that too.

Mickey relaxed his shoulders and leaned back on the sofa. “Now, like I said, Fletcher can be useful in that. Of course, I can also find someone else to do this job. So, it’s in your hands.”

“His life?” Ray asked, just to make sure he hadn’t gotten it wrong.

Mickey nodded, taking the last gulp from his glass and putting it down.

Ray looked down at his hands. If Mickey had simply told him _“find Fletcher, put a bullet in his head”_ he wouldn’t have thought twice before doing it and it wasn’t because they were his orders. It was because Fletcher had played with fire and deserved to get burned. And maybe, because he was hurt. A bit betrayed.

Fucking idiotic, that was. Fletcher would sell his own mother for the right price.

Ray was used to the hard questions. He just hadn’t expected this one to be one of those.

He didn’t want Fletcher dead. And not because of what they’d had a very long time ago. Truth was, Fletcher made life more fun. Dangerous, sure, and he wasn’t nearly as charming as he thought he was, but he did keep things interesting, Ray would give him that.

“Alright,” Ray said, “he lives.”

Mickey smiled, “I thought you’d say that.”

Ray almost rolled his eyes; almost said “ _maybe you really are a hopeless romantic”_ but there was a reason he was there when so many others weren’t. Despite everything, he never forgot who the boss was.

“However, do make sure he knows that if he steps one foot out of line, I’ll feed him to the sharks. Literally.”

“Don’t worry,” Ray got up, “I’ll make sure he’s a good boy.”

Mickey nodded, mouth slightly twitching up. Ray ignored it – he’d opened himself up for that –, simply nodding at Mickey and leaving the living room.

He had an investigator to find.

.

It didn’t take long for Fletcher to accept that there was no easy way out of the taxi, and so he finally leaned back, though it was clear to see just how hard he was pretending to be feeling relaxed. Ray didn’t blame him; if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t be feeling relaxed either. But of course, the chances of Ray being caught in this situation were slim to none because he wasn’t a fucking idiot.

“You know you’re a fucking idiot, right?” Ray asked, genuinely curious. A smart man would have gone and bought a plane ticket out of the country the second he had escaped. But not Fletcher; he’d gone running to the fucking Miramax studios. Fuck, not even Warner Brothers.

“Yeah, yeah, I should have left the country the second I ran from your house. But do you have any idea how long it took me to book a meeting with one of the top-guns from Miramax? ‘Cuz let me tell you, it wasn’t fucking easy.” Fletcher leaned forward on his seat. Ray decisively didn’t move, though he had no idea what idiocy Fletcher was going to spew next. “He had a Men from U.N.C.L.E. poster in his office. You know, Miramax didn’t even produce the film. You’d think he’d have some personal pride, no?”

Ray breathed noisily through his nose. He didn’t have a reply for Fletcher. Jesus, Ray had known a lot of people over the years, some crazier than others, but none quite like Fletcher. He was either in love with danger or had no survival instinct. Probably a bit of both.

In the end, he decided simply not to say anything. He went back to paying attention to the road – if the last few days had taught him anything, it was that the chances of dying in a car accident were about as high as dying from his criminal dealings.

After not even a full minute of silence, Fletcher started talking away. “So… How’s this going to play out?”

“I don’t know, Fletcher. You’re the ideas guy. How do you think this is going to play out?” Ray forced himself not to show just how amused he was. He could understand why Fletcher had acted so smug when he thought he was the smartest man in the room, the one with all the cards.

Fletcher studied him in silence. Ray didn’t pay him that much attention, though being the focus of Fletcher’s wasn’t the worst feeling in the world.

“I can see this going a couple of ways,” Fletcher finally started talking. “Most involve a lot of physical pain for me. Which, you know, I don’t oppose. In a safe and consensual way. But something tells me, this isn’t the way it’s going to play out.”

Ray shrugged, “yeah, my boss is a one woman’s man.”

Fletcher didn’t respond to that. Could be he had nothing to say, or that even he realized some things were better left uncommented on.

Out of curiosity, Ray asked, “did you get the contract?”

Fletcher sighed, “not yet. I was going to L.A., see what the competition would offer.”

Ray made a noise of agreement, but didn’t say anything. Before they reached Mickey, he was going to have to tell Fletcher the way things were going to be. But for now, he was enjoying making him sweat.

Fletcher was silent for some moments, but it didn’t take long before he cracked. Ray was unsurprised; even if circumstances weren’t what they were, Fletcher had never been the quiet type.

“So, what’s it going to be?”

“You were the one saying how there were plenty of options. Why don’t you talk me through them, Fletcher? We got time.”

“Oh, cheerful. Well, the first few options all end up with me dead. Which, if this is the road we’re going through, I’d like to ask for a painless death. I know I haven’t exactly made myself worthy of one, but I’d appreciate it nonetheless.”

Ray made a considering sound, “wouldn’t we all.”

For probably the first time ever, Fletcher chose to ignore what Raymond was saying. “The other options… well, one of them, you threaten me and let me go. After, of course, I promise to burn the draft and everything else I have that involves Mickey Pearson’s operation. And the other…” He frowned but didn’t finish.

Ray raised an eyebrow, making sure Fletcher could see him through the rear-view mirror. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense, Fletcher.”

“You could offer me a job.”

Ray smirked, “you have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you.”

“Well, yes.”

“That high opinion of yourself got you stuffed in a metal box just a few days ago.”

“Yes, an experience I certainly wouldn’t want to repeat. But you have to admit, it wasn’t the worst plan ever.”

Ray decided it was necessary to turn around and send a look Fletcher’s way. Words weren’t enough to express just how unimpressed he was with Fletcher’s plan.

“Right, a smarter man wouldn’t have gone after one of the most powerful/dangerous men in the country. What can I say,” Fletcher sent a loaded look Ray’s way, “I’ve always had a taste for the dangerous.”

Ray rolled his eyes. Jesus, the man just couldn’t help himself.

“Word of advice, Fletcher, keep the flirting to yourself with the boss.”

“Why? He homophobic?” Fletcher didn’t sound bothered, just genuinely curious.

“This ain’t the nineties anymore, so no. He probably just won’t find it as charming as I do.”

“I thought you didn’t find it charming.”

“Exactly,” Ray sent him another look through the rear-view mirror, to which Fletcher sighed.

“Did I say I always had a penchant for danger? Believe me, it’s nothing compared to the trouble I get when pretty boys are involved. Again, I’d like to reiterate, that it’s all safe and consensual. And legal, of course.”

Ray didn’t reply to that; Fletcher had a way to get off topic, he didn’t need any help there.

“Wait,” Fletcher said, “you just told me to keep the flirting to myself when I’m with the boss. So I’m meeting him?”

Ray made a questioning noise from his throat.

“So, either he’s personally going to off me, which makes me feel weirdly flattered, or he’s going to offer me a job.”

Ray didn’t reply right away; they were close to the boss’ house. They’d talk once they were there.

Apparently realising this wasn’t the moment for any funny quips, Fletcher remained silent the rest of the way, moving his eyes from the window, to the back of Ray’s head.

Finally, the mansion was in view. Ray parked the car, then turned around in his seat.

“You’re right; you’re being offered a job. Well, actually, I’d see it more as a chance to clean up after yourself. See, you said that it was Matthew who unknowingly, or simply uncaringly, started a turf war, but your actions didn’t differ that much from his. We have to deal with the Russians now.”

“You do know I’m not a hit man, right?” Fletcher asked and Ray snorted.

“Believe me, Fletcher, I’m aware. No, we all know where your skills lie,” Fletcher opened his mouth and Ray pointed a finger his way, “one sexual pun and I’m gonna have to tell the boss we had an accident on the way.”

Fletcher mimed zipping his lips shut. If only.

“So, we’re going to deal with the Russians. Your job is going to be to keep your ear to the ground. Some people might start thinking this is the time to get the boss out of the game. Your job is going to be to find out just who those people are. And their plans.”

Fletcher nodded, but Ray didn’t give him a moment to reply.

“This is your one and only chance, Fletcher. You fuck with us again… The boss says he’s going to feed you to the sharks. Believe me, once I’m done with you, you’re going to thank him for that.”

Fletcher gulped and was smart enough to not say anything except to nod.

Ray turned back to the front. Then he opened his door. “Come on, the boss wants to meet you.”

Fletcher followed him out and was silent for the time it took them to get to the front door.

“This is a nice place.”

“Yeah, and you almost made sure my boss never got to step foot in it again.”

Fletcher seemed genuinely ashamed at that, but he didn’t apologize. Ray preferred it that way; better to be honest or to say nothing at all.

Ray opened the door with the key he had and started on the path to the living room, hearing Fletcher following him.

He knocked on the closed door once they were outside.

“Come in,” the response was almost immediate.

Ray opened the door but moved to give Fletcher space to go in first, which he did, after sending a look Ray’s way. Ray had no idea what it was supposed to mean, and didn’t try to figure it out.

Mickey had his back to them, looking out the window. They both went in and it was only after a few silent seconds that he finally turned to them, immediately looking Fletcher up and down. Then he turned to Ray.

“Gotta be honest, Ray, I though your taste in men would be better.”

Ray shrugged, but decided not to reply, since all he could think involved mentioning how it was another part of his anatomy that had done the thinking. It just didn’t seem like something the boss wanted to hear.

“See, I just can’t figure out if you think that highly of yourself, that you never doubted you’d get away with this, or if you’re just an idiot. Now, from what Ray tells me, I don’t think it’s the second option.” Mickey went and sat on the sofa. Ray went to lean on the wall, leaving Fletcher to himself in the centre of the room. He was smart enough not to take a seat uninvited.

“You don’t seem like the arrogant sort, Fletcher. Yet… Like I said. Do you just think you’re the smartest man in any room or that the rest of us are too dumb?”

Fletcher didn’t respond, apparently deciding it was a rhetorical question.

“I really do want to know what you were thinking, Fletcher.”

“Ah, well… it was the first option.”

Mikey raised an eyebrow, clearly asking him to expand.

“I do think too highly of myself. It’s one of my lesser qualities.”

“Hmm.” Mickey didn’t say anything for some long moments, clearly enjoying watching Fletcher squirm.

“Did Raymond say what your job was going to be?”

“He did.”

“And did he say what the consequences would be if you failed?”

Fletcher nodded, “in vivid detail.”

“Good,” Michael got up, buttoning his jacket. “Now, I have some Russians to deal with. Ray will be your point of contact for the future,” he pointed to the door with his hand. “Please.”

Fletcher nodded and turned back. Once he was at the door, Mickey called his name.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he said, in a serious manner and Fletcher nodded again. Then he left.

“Do you think he’ll try and walk back to the city?” Mickey asked, a bit amused, and Ray snorted.

“Fletcher, not making a nuisance of himself? ‘Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“Hmm,” Mickey made that noise again. “You can go too. Let me know when the Russians are dealt with.”

Ray nodded, “you got it, boss.”

He opened the door but before he could leave, he too was called back.

“You know, Ray, I was serious when I said I thought you’d have better taste in men. But, some things are unexplainable. If I were you… well, second chances don’t come along that often.”

“He tried to get you killed. And me, by association,” Ray said, not seeing the point in keeping quiet.

Mickey shrugged, “everyone has their faults.”

Ray had no idea what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

“Just keep my words in mind, Ray. Love’s a special thing, and it doesn’t come along nearly as often as we think.”

Jesus Christ, his boss really was a closeted romantic. Fucking hell.

Ray nodded and finally left.

As expected, he found Fletcher outside, leaning on the taxi and smoking a cigar.

What Ray should do was tell him to put it out, get in the car, and drive off. Instead, he leaned on the taxi as well, leaving enough space between them not to accidentally touch each other, and started rolling his own cigarette; half and half, just the way he liked them.

“He’s as handsome up close as he is in the pictures,” Fletcher said and Ray snorted.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Ray asked, knowing he sounded fond but being unable to stop it. Fletcher, of course, caught it and smiled.

“Don’t worry, you’re still my favourite.”

“Yeah? Favourite of what? Criminals you’re willing to throw under the bus for a few pounds?” Ray put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it up. He didn’t even sound that upset. He just wanted to know what Fletcher had to say for himself.

Fletcher frowned, “I am sorry. For you, at least, that you’d get caught in the cross-fire.”

Ray let the smoke out of his lungs slowly, noticing the way Fletcher’s eyes followed the movement.

“Why go to the Russians first, Fletcher? I can understand going to us and to them. A double payment, like you said. But your first idea really was to sell Mickey out and wait for them to kill him. Don’t tell me… was it about Aslan? Because the kid dying was a genuine accident.”

Fletcher didn’t reply right away.

“There’s a lot of reasons I could give you. The kid, the fact that I think Mickey is dangerous but truth is… I just wanted to see what would happen.”

“I never thought you as a man of chaos,” Ray said, continuing to smoke his cigarette.

“Sometimes…” Fletcher raised a hand to his head, not touching it, but moving it around, like thoughts running too fast to follow, “I just think things and “why not?” seems like a good enough reason to do them.”

Ray didn’t reply.

Fletcher looked seriously at him, “I never wanted you dead, Raymond.”

Ray sighed, raising a hand to scratch his brow. “I know, Fletcher.”

Fletcher opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything before closing it again. Ray was glad; he doubted it would be anything he particularly wanted to listen to.

“Come on,” he threw the cigarette on the ground and put it out with a foot. “We both have work to do.”

Fletcher nodded, inhaling from the cigar one last time before copying Ray’s actions.

They got in the taxi in silence.

.

The Russians had to be dealt with in a very extreme, deadly way. Ray and Mickey had discussed trying to find a peaceful way to end things, but had both agreed that if they had a kid and thought someone had been responsible for their death, they wouldn’t stop until that person was dead too. So, since the Russians weren’t going to stop willingly, they had to be put a stop to. No matter the cost.

Violence wasn’t something Ray particularly enjoyed. But, it was part of the job, and he never shied away from duties.

One it was finally done, he went to meet with Coach. After he killed the two henchmen in his front yard, Ray had been more than willing to leave him alone; hell, he’d even be owing him a favour if he ever came to collect. But that was before Mickey called him after getting his car shot down by his boys. Who accidentally saved his life. But still, it didn’t change that that hadn’t been their original intention.

“Raymond,” Coach greeted him, already with a pint in front of him.

“Coach,” Ray replied and nodded to the bartender, asking for the same.

He unbuttoned his jacked and sat down in front of Coach, not saying anything.

Coach sighed, “my boys really messed up this time.”

Ray nodded; no use sugar-coating it. “They did. But, the boss is alright, and they actually accidentally saved his life.”

Coach raised his eyebrows.

“The only reason they’re alive,” Ray continued. He leaned forward, “you know I was willing to call it quits between us. You more than paid for their debt. But this…”

Coach sighed, “I know. They’re stupid fucking boys.”

Ray shrugged; couldn’t exactly argue with that. They really were fucking stupid. The pint was brought to him.

“They’re all very loyal,” he said, after taking a gulp, and Coach frowned.

“You want them to work for you?” He clearly wanted to say something else but stopped himself. Ray liked that about him; he was a smart man.

“Not forever. At least, not unless they want to stay. But they do now owe a debt to the boss. And before, we were willing to let you pay it off. But this one… this is personal.”

Coach nodded, though clearly not happy about it.

“What’s the job?”

“Just scaring some people. With the way things went down… it won’t take long before some schmucks think it’s open season on Mickey Pearson. Your boys will make sure that’s an error in thinking not worth repeating.”

Coach thought about it for a few seconds in silence, staring at his pint.

“I realize this is none of my business but… you sure this intel will be good? Because last time…”

“Yeah, we didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle,” Ray said and maybe he shouldn’t have. Coach wasn’t with them, and even if he was, he wouldn’t have been that high in the command chain to know all the details. But he’d done good and Ray was willing to give him something for it. “Fletcher is now working for us.”

Coach’s eyebrows raised again. “I thought for sure he’d gone sleeping with the fish.”

Ray shrugged, not willing to divulge just why the man was still alive.

“He does good work, I guess,” Coach continued. “Hope he doesn’t cross you again.”

“Fletcher thinks too high of himself, but I don’t think he’s suicidal.”

Coach made a thinking sound and Ray knew he should leave it well alone, but he couldn’t help himself. He asked, “what?”

Coach shrugged, “nothing. It’d seemed there was history between you two, that’s all.”

Ray took a gulp from his glass. Not exactly a lie, was it?

But this wasn’t Mickey, so he was unwilling to talk about it.

“So, the boys?” He asked, clearly changing the subject. Coach realized it but was smart enough to go along with it.

“They’ll do what they’re told.”

“Good. And make sure they know… they’re on thin fucking ice.”

Coach nodded, “they know.”

Ray nodded and got up, getting his wallet out. Coach waved his hand at it.

“Don’t worry, it’s on me.”

Ray put the wallet back in his pocket and nodded again. Then he left.

.

It took two days for him to hear from Fletcher again.

“Yeah?” Ray said once he picked up the call.

“I’ve started hearing rumours, but no plans yet.”

Ray made a sound in agreement, “is that all?”

Fletcher sighed, “no, I got a call from the studio.”

Ray, who had been in the middle of taking some vegetables from the fridge to make dinner, closed it. “You know you can’t sell it.”

Fletcher sighed again, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Ray leaned against his counter. “I read it, you know.”

“You did?” Fletcher asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, you had a copy in one of your stashes. And even though you’ve changed names and details, it’s still too obvious. You can’t sell it,” he paused. “You won’t sell it.”

Fletcher sighed a third time, “yeah, I thought you’d say that. I already told him I was taking my business somewhere else.”

“Glad you do have a survival instinct. Could use some tuning up, but at least it’s there.”

Ray heard a woosh of breath coming from the other end, like laughter caught in Fletcher’s throat.

He didn’t hang up. Instead, he kept listening to Fletcher breathing. After several seconds, he finally forced himself to ask, “is that all?”

“Yeah,” Fletcher said, but it sounded like he wanted to say something else.

“Just spit it out, Fletcher. You’ve never been the shy type, why start now?”

“Well, I was wondering… what did you think of it?”

“It?” Ray asked, smiling, immediately knowing what Fletcher was talking about, but liking getting the upper hand.

“The script,” Fletcher explained, sounding put-upon. Ray kept smiling; he was going to have some fun.

“You use too many commas,” he started and then paused.

“Is that it?” Fletcher finally asked, after several seconds of silence. He sounded… disappointed.

Ray’s smile diminished, less smug, more soft. “It was good, Fletcher. A bit flashy, but I liked the pacing, I liked the story… I liked the characters. Especially Edmond.”

Fletcher made a sound from his throat, “though you might.”

“A handsome, dangerous fella. Who wouldn’t like him?”

“Yes, who wouldn’t?” Fletcher asked in a low voice and Ray forgot what he was about to say. They were in dangerous waters. Fletcher didn’t say anything else, leaving the ball in Ray’s field, who came really close to asking him over for dinner.

But no, that wasn’t something they were doing again. At least, not until Fletcher actually did what he was paid to.

“Goodnight, Fletcher,” he said instead and it took a couple seconds, but eventually Fletcher replied in a soft tone.

“Goodnight, Raymond.”

Ray was the first to disconnect the call. He opened the fridge again but suddenly wasn’t so hungry anymore. He just got some eggs out.

.

On Thursday, almost two weeks after the fiasco with Matthew, Dry Eye and the Russians, Ray went to have lunch with Ros at their house, Mickey nowhere in sight.

He and Ros had a weird friendship. At the beginning, Ray hadn’t even been sure he could call her a friend, knowing that it was their connection to Mickey that made them have their own. But he eventually realised that he enjoyed spending time with her, even when Mickey wasn’t around and if in some far-etched future they got divorced, he’d still want to know how she was doing. And not just because Mickey would absolutely ask him to keep tabs on her.

“Ray, a pleasure as always,” Ros said after opening the door. He didn’t usually use his key when she was around.

“Good to see you, Rosalind,” he replied and it was. Neither her nor Mickey had said exactly what had happened with Dry Eye but she’d been jumpier in the days after, Mickey even more protective than usual.

“Come on in. I made cannelloni,” she said, turning away and leaving him to make his way inside, closing the door after him.

“Smells good,” he said once they were close enough to the kitchen that he could smell it.

“Thank you,” she said and took the dish out of the oven. She went and put it on the dining table and came back to take out her apron. Then she grabbed the bottle of red wine already opened, her used glass and lead the way to the table.

Ray sat down in front of her, Ros serving him wine and then putting some more into her glass. Her hands didn’t shake.

He debated asking how she was, deciding in the end that it was worth whatever awkwardness it might cause for her to know he genuinely cared.

“How are you, Ros?”

Ros stared at him for some seconds, studying him. Ray just stared back, waiting out her evaluation in silence.

“I’m good,” she finally said. Then she smirked, “’was quite surprised when Mickey told me Fletcher was still alive.” She shook her head, “I thought you’d have better taste in men, Ray.”

Ray snorted, “your husband said the same thing.”

Ros shrugged, “he’s a smart man.” She continued to smirk, “I’ve seen pictures of him. For an old man, he has a certain charm.”

Ray took a gulp from his wine, waiting her out in silence. Surely, Ros had something else to add.

“What are you thinking, Ray?”

Ray opened his mouth, ready to make some quip about the food getting cold, but closed it and shrugged. “Not sure.”

Ros made a sound and then put a hand out so he’d pass her his plate and she could put some food into it. Then she did the same to hers and they took their first bites in silence.

“It’s good,” Ray said. It always was.

“Thank you,” Ros replied, genuinely smiling. She took another bite, only speaking after she was finished chewing and swallowing, “how did you two meet?”

“It was years ago, in some pub. You remember Dodgier, right?”

Ros nodded, “the gun smuggler.”

“Right. Well, Fletcher was doing a job on him.”

She raised an eyebrow, “and he thought you were involved?”

Ray laughed, just a bit, “no, he went to the pub to gather intel. Instead, he came to chat me up. It was only months later, once Dodgier had been arrested, that he finally told me why he’d been there in the first place.”

“Is that why you broke up?” Ros kept eating.

“No,” Ray responded, not saying anything else right away. He’d never had this conversation before. He didn’t really have any friends, not aside from Ros. He was pretty sure Mickey wouldn’t be against having this conversation either, but in the end, no matter how fond they might be of each other, Mickey was still his boss.

“I didn’t trust him. I thought it was just a matter of time before he wrote something about Mickey. ‘Couldn’t quite figure out which questions were about him being genuinely curious about my life, and which were for a piece.”

Ros made a noise, “how long were you two together?”

“Close to two years,” Ros raised her eyebrows at that. “It was kind of on and off. Sometimes he’d go away for weeks.”

“Hmm,” Ros said and Ray went back to eating. She had her glass in her hand when she spoke again, “I’m guessing he first went up to you for your looks. What about you?”

Ray finished chewing slowly. It had been quite a while since he’d thought about that night. Fletcher hadn’t changed that much in the years since then; more grey in his hair, perhaps, but the beard was the same, the glasses and jacket too.

“He made me laugh,” he finally answered. “He was funny and interesting and he kept me on my toes. He’s smart.”

“Though not as smart as he thinks,” she said and he nodded.

“No, he definitely thinks too high of himself.” He almost said _“I thought that was attractive”_ but decided some things were best left unsaid.

Ros ate some more before she spoke again. Ray didn’t try and change the subject; he didn’t mind it.

“Did Mickey spew some bullshit on taking second chances on love?”

Ray snorted, nodding, “yeah, he did.”

Ros rolled her eyes, “bloody romantic, that one.”

Ray just smiled at her, seeing the fond look in her eyes. He’d already been working for Mickey when the two of them first met, though he’d been pretty low on the command chain. Still, he’d seen how they’d acted right from the beginning, like a satellite around a moon. Usually the satellite would be Mickey, but Ray knew it went the other way too.

“What do you wanna do?” Ros asked. “I’m guessing the chances of him writing anything on us are pretty slim. He doesn’t seem like the suicidal type.”

“No,” Ray agreed, but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what he was going to do. What he wanted to do. Once they’d broken up, that had been it. Ray had closed the door on that and even though Fletcher had flirted the half a dozen times they’d seen each other after, that had been as far as it went. Maybe Ray hadn’t been willing to find out just how much of it he’d actually meant and how much was a joke.

“Well, I’m sure as fuck not telling you to take a second bloody chance on love,” Ros concluded and Ray laughed.

He grabbed his glass and raised it in a toast, though he didn’t say to what. Ros didn’t say anything either, just clinked their glasses together.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Rosalind,” he said, smiling, and Ros nodded.

“Me too, Ray. Me too.”

They went back to eating.

.

It was Saturday night and Ray had just finished washing the dishes when someone rang his doorbell. He went to check who it was through the camera he had in the intercom. When he saw Fletcher, he genuinely couldn’t tell if he was happy about it or not.

“No breaking in this time?” He asked through the intercom, not opening the gate.

“I thought it better not to take my chances,” Fletcher replied and Ray frowned. It wasn’t usual that Fletcher didn’t reply with some type of quip. He buzzed open the gate and went to the door, opening it as well.

“Fletcher,” he said, once he was close enough for them to speak at a normal distance.

“Raymond,” Fletcher smiled, “how do you do this fine evening?”

“Fine, thanks, and you?” Ray responded, deciding to bite back the _“better before you came along.”_ It wasn’t how he felt, anyhow, just his usual response.

“I’m good, old chap, thank you,” Fletcher answered, stopping in front of Ray, who looked him up and down. Still the same leather jacket and the ridiculous glasses. Maybe a bit more tired than usual but all in all, Fletcher looked pretty much like always. Ray moved aside so he could come in.

“Shoes off,” Ray said, himself wearing flippers.

Fletcher bent down to do as told. “No trackers this time?”

Ray crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, “should there be?”

Fletcher laughed, though Ray hadn’t been particularly funny and he didn’t sound all that amused. “No, of course not. Though I must admit, you’ve made me a tad paranoid about it now. Fool me once and all that bollocks.”

Ray shrugged, uncrossing his arms and leading the way to the office, “you’re the one who watches all those spy films.”

Fletcher laughed again, this time sounding a bit more amused, “yes, yet… here we are.”

Ray wasn’t sure exactly which way Fletcher had meant the comment, so he chose to ignore it. “Drink?” He asked, going to his drink cabinet.

“Yes, thank you,” Fletcher answered and Ray poured two glasses – good quality Scotch, but not £1500 good.

Ray turned around and offered one glass to Fletcher, who didn’t linger on the contact as he took it.

“So, what brings you here?” Ray asked, sitting in one of the sofas and inviting Fletcher to sit in the other with a hand. He did it before he started talking.

“Yesterday, I got a call from a newspaper interested in hiring me for an investigation. And I wanted to know if I could do that job while continuing to work for you.”

“What’s the investigation?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Some lord with some secrets to uncover. Cheating, corruption… like I said, the usual.”

Ray didn’t say anything right away, leaning back on the sofa. He kept holding the glass with one hand, while he stretched the other arm along the sofa’s back. It didn’t escape him the way Fletcher followed the movements, before taking a sip.

“Good Scotch,” he said and Ray nodded at him.

“I’m curious, Fletcher. Why haven’t you ever blackmailed these lords? I know it’s not cheap hiring you, but you could make even more money by blackmail.”

Fletcher didn’t reply right away, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Would you believe me if I told you I was hoping that by making public all their dirt they’d actually pay for it?”

“No,” Ray answered. “You’re neither that altruistic nor so naïve.”

Fletcher smiled and raised his glass, as if in a toast to Ray. “You know me too well, Raymond. I guess… it’s the same reason I gave Mickey up to the Russians. To see what happens. Besides, blackmail… Maybe they’d pay, but eventually they’d want me out. I don’t particularly like living with a target on my back.”

Ray snorted, “funny way of showing that.”

“Yes, well,” Fletcher shrugged, “the deal with the Russians and Mickey didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time.”

Ray didn’t say anything in response. They’d already discussed this and Ray didn’t take it to heart. It’d been business.

“But, about my original question?”

Ray shrugged, “’don’t see why not. As long as you know which one is more important.”

Fletcher nodded, “not to worry, Ray-mondo, I have my priorities straight. Well,” he raised his eyebrows, “as straight as I can get them, anyhow.”

Ray almost laughed, but hid it by taking a gulp from his drink.

Fletcher took his own gulp. His glass was almost finished. Ray didn’t make a move to refill it, though he wasn’t kicking Fletcher out either. The night was full of possibilities and for once, Ray was willing to open himself up to them.

Fletcher looked down at his drink and frowned, then he looked up at Ray. “I really am sorry you almost got caught in the crossfire.”

Ray didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t know what to say; he just studied Fletcher in silence, who, of course, started fidgeting almost immediately. Fletcher was really good at being unnoticed when he wanted to, but put him on the spotlight… he was a showman and he liked being the centre of attention, but only when he could control just what exactly was receiving all the attention.

Ray imagined saying _“get out.”_ Fletcher would leave and they’d keep in contact through texting and eventually he’d tell him _“your debt is paid”_ and they’d never see each other again. Well, probably never. He certainly wouldn’t trust Fletcher not to get himself into another stupidly suicidal situation.

He also imagined getting up, telling Fletcher _“let’s go to bed.”_ He stayed longer in that fantasy. It wasn’t that sex with Fletcher had been mind-blowing; it’d been good, but Ray never had had a shortage of sex partners. But somehow, with Fletcher, it was never just sex. Did he want that?

“I don’t know if I can trust you, Fletcher,” he said.

It was Fletcher’s time to study him. Then, he sighed, put his glass on the table and took off his glasses. He cleaned them on his shirt but didn’t put them back on, instead laying them on the table as well.

He looked older with the glasses off. Or, more precisely, looked his age, with wrinkles all around his eyes and stretchy skin. Ros had been right; for an old man, he wasn’t ugly.

“You know, after we’d been together for a while, some months, I started wondering what would happen if someone wanted to hire me to investigate Mickey. If I’d do it and try and keep your name out of it. Or not accept it but tell you to watch out,” he paused.

“Or accept it and lose me,” Ray said, seriously.

Fletcher nodded, “I know you wondered the same, Ray.”

Ray shrugged; it was the truth and he wasn’t going to lie about it.

“As you well know, I have an active imagination, so I didn’t mind pondering all these little scenarios. My problem was feeling more and more like I wouldn’t be able to take the job. Now, like I said, it’s not that I think I have some higher calling to bring powerful men down, but for the past thirty…” he rolled his eyes, “forty years, there’s never been anything more important than my job.”

Ray nodded. He almost asked _“and now?”_ but didn’t see the point. They weren’t in a committed relationship anymore – if it’d ever been that committed – and it would probably have been hypocritical, since it wasn’t like Ray was about to give up his job for Fletcher. Just the idea of it made him almost laugh out loud.

He was fond of Fletcher, as annoying as he could be. But he wasn’t in love with him.

Truth was, Mickey wouldn’t have lost his loyalty if he’d killed Fletcher. Ray probably wouldn’t even have thought of him that much once the deed was done, nothing further than a once in a while _“that fucking idiot.”_ But, the fact was, he wasn’t dead. Mickey had chosen not to kill him because he guessed he was somehow important to Ray.

He wasn’t. But he had been. And maybe he could be again.

Ray drunk the rest of his Scotch, putting the glass down on the table. “You drive me nuts, you know that, right, Fletcher?”

Fletcher shrugged, though it was clear he was pretending to be more at ease than he actual was. “One of my finer qualities.”

Ray snorted, “you don’t have those.”

Fletcher laughed and it was a good sight; nothing hidden behind the glasses.

Ray got up, walking up to Fletcher, who followed him with his eyes, but didn’t move otherwise. He offered his hand, “come on, let me take you to bed.”

Fletcher smiled, “well, darling, I thought you’d never ask.” He took Ray’s hand, who rolled his eyes at the words.

They were silent as Ray led them out of the office, through the kitchen, up the stairs and to his bedroom. Fletcher had never been inside; when they’d been together, this hadn’t been something he could have afforded even in his wildest dreams.

They continued to be quiet inside, Ray moving to the bed, pushing away the bed coverings so there was only a sheet. It’d be the only thing he’d have to change before they went to sleep. Then, he started taking off his clothes. After his jacket went on the back of a chair, he turned around.

Fletcher had also taken out his jacket, but that was all. He was just staring at Ray.

Ray walked closer to him, then slowly started unbuttoning his dress shirt. He could hear Fletcher’s breath getting caught in his throat.

In true Fletcher fashion, he had a tight white tank top underneath. So Ray pushed his shirt off his arms, letting it drop on the floor and then moved his hands to the hem of the tank top, pushing it up. Once it had reached his middle, Fletcher moved to take it off himself.

Ray moved his hands around his chest, then his back, Fletcher following his movements with his eyes. He was almost sixty and it showed. Still, Fletcher didn’t act self-aware of his body. It had always been one of Ray’s favourite things about him. Once, a couple months just before they’d been together for a year, Fletcher mentioned his age. Told him he was too old for kids, so if that was something Ray was looking for, they should probably call it quits.

If Ray thought hard on it, he could almost see it. A two-year old having to be caught before they hit the counter. A four-year old crying because they didn’t have whatever they’d been asking for. A teenager closing their door with a bang.

He could imagine it. It just wasn’t something he was that interested in actually living through. He’d told Fletcher that and that had been pretty much the only time they’d talked about the age difference between them.

Ray kissed Fletcher on his collarbone, slowly moving his lips up his neck, foregoing his beard to finally kiss him on the lips. Fletcher immediately opened up to him. It was a dirty kiss, but not particularly forceful or rushed. Even their first time had been that way; Fletcher kissed deeply, but unhurriedly.

Ray let go so he could take off his own shirt. Then he started on his trousers, hearing Fletcher doing the same to his. He leaned down to take off his socks. Fletcher had to put one hand on Ray’s shoulder to keep his balance as he did the same. He laughed and Ray followed along.

He felt… good. Content. Like he was where he was supposed to be. He didn’t believe this was fate, no matter what Mickey said, but he was right in that it was a second chance. And he’d decided he was going to take it.

Once they were both naked, Ray moved back to Fletcher, kissing him again. He moved one hand up and down his back, while the other went to his neck. Fletcher, for his part, had one hand on Ray’s cheek – he remembered that – and the other on his hip, squeezing more forcedly or not depending on what Ray’s tongue was doing.

Ray moved back, “how do you wanna do this?”

Fletcher raised an eyebrow, though Ray could hear him breathing hard. “You really have to ask?”

Ray smiled, showing off his teeth. “Lie on the bed, then. Stomach down.”

Fletcher didn’t have to be told twice, going to bed and lying down as requested. Ray followed slowly, going around so he could open the first drawer on his bedside table, taking out the lube and a condom and putting them by Fletcher’s side, almost at his hand. Then he climbed the bed and went to sit down on Fletcher’s tights.

He bent down, kissing the back of Fletcher’s neck, his hair tickling his nose. He moved his hands to his shoulders, massaging them. Fletcher exhaled. He had his hands underneath his head, neck turned right, watching Ray from the corner of his eye. He smiled at Ray.

“I missed you,” he said.

There was so much he could say to that, that Ray chose to keep quiet and continue to kiss down Fletcher’s neck, eventually reaching his back and shuffling down as he kept kissing him, not stopping his hands’ movements.

Once he was sitting almost on top of Fletcher’s knees, he unstraddled him. Without saying anything, he moved a hand to push his knees apart, which Fletcher did silently. Then Ray moved so he was in the middle of them, no longer on top of Fletcher.

He got the lube and put some on his fingers, spending a few moments just touching Fletcher’s rim, but not entering him.

He could hear Fletcher breathing noisily, sometimes with a little hiccup, but he kept quiet. He knew Ray liked doing this unhurriedly and although eventually he’d reach a point Fletcher would run out of patience, for the most part, he’d always been willing to go along with Ray. It wasn’t like there’d be much of a chance of doing this more than once during the night.

Eventually, Ray finally breached him, paying attention to the way Fletcher noisily inhaled.

“How long has it been?” Ray asked, quietly. He wasn’t jealous, just curious.

“A couple months,” Fletcher laughed, “I’ve been kind of busy the past few weeks.”

Ray smiled, bending down so he could kiss him right in the middle of his back.

“And you?” Fletcher asked, out of breath.

Ray kept the smile on his face, moving on Fletcher’s back, so he could feel it too.

“Fishing, Fletcher?”

Fletcher shrugged. Or attempted to, anyhow. Not the easiest of actions in his position.

“Just curious,” he answered.

“Probably longer than you. My boss has been trying to sell off his business, you know,” Ray said and Fletcher laughed, though he stopped abruptly to moan when Ray joined a second finger with the first.

“Yeah, how’s that going?” It was obvious Fletcher’s mind was barely on the conversation. Ray kept smiling.

“He decided he wouldn’t sell it for now.”

“Think that’ll mean you’ll have more time for this?” This time, Fletcher’s words came more slowly, his voice breaking off every couple of seconds.

Ray moved so he could kiss him on the lips, though Fletcher couldn’t fully turn his neck for their tongues to touch. “I could be persuaded,” he whispered against Fletcher’s mouth.

“That’s-” he stopped to moan as Ray found his prostate. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Ray said, himself not fully following the conversation anymore, “I think so too.”

He moved his head back down, watching as he added a third finger, moving them inside Fletcher, scissoring them and touching his prostrate almost every time his fingers went in. Fletcher had started moving to accompany his rhythm, also clearly searching for some friction on his dick with the sheet. He didn’t move a hand to touch himself, though.

Ray kissed the end of his back. “I missed you too,” he whispered against him.

Fletcher laughed but he didn’t say anything. His back was shining with sweat.

Finally, Ray took away his fingers, Fletcher groaning, and went and got the condom on, putting some lube on it before slowly moving back to Fletcher. This time, he closed his legs so he could straddle him.

He moved Fletcher so that his ass was higher in the air, his elbows on the bed and his forehead down on it. Then, he slowly entered him, making sure to listen closely to the sounds coming out of Fletcher’s mouth.

Once he’d bottomed out, he waited for Fletcher’s nod to move again.

His pace was slow and his thrusts not particularly strong. He put one hand on Fletcher’s cock, moving it to his hips’ rhythm.

Fletcher wasn’t a talker during sex, surprisingly, but that didn’t mean he was quiet. He moaned and groaned, giving a particularly loud and long moan when Ray found his prostrate.

Eventually, Ray started moving faster, though he didn’t thrust harder. He could feel the tension rising in himself, but he wasn’t chasing his orgasm, instead making sure Fletcher got there first.

Once he did, it seemed as if it almost took him by surprise. One second, he was moving against Ray, searching his own friction, the next he was suddenly freezing, squeezing around Ray and coming against the sheets, loudly groaning.

Ray pulled out.

“Want me to suck you off?” Fletcher asked and Ray thought about it. He could see it in his mind; Fletcher still laying down, Ray above him on the bed, his hands on his buttocks.

“Nah,” he said instead and moved Fletcher so his back was on the sheets. He made a face as he touched the wet spot. Ray took off his condom and started moving his hand on his dick.

Fletcher moved so his weight was on his elbows, the top of his back off the bed. He licked his lips, which made Ray laugh, which turned into a moan halfway through.

He groaned as he came. Then he moved so he was lying beside Fletcher.

Fletcher, being the dirty dog he was, moved one hand to his stomach and then licked his finger. Ray just rolled his eyes.

“Come on, we’re taking a shower.”

Fletcher didn’t bother arguing; this was non-negotiable and he knew it.

They didn’t talk as they showered, though they kept kissing and touching each other. Still, Fletcher wasn’t getting it up again that night and Ray was feeling quite content, he didn’t need another orgasm.

They both put on a robe and slippers once they were done, Fletcher with a towel around his hair as he went to his jacket and got his pack of cigars and lighter out. He went to the balcony, where Ray had two chairs and a small table. He sat in one.

Ray went to get one of his own cigarettes, already rolled, and joined him.

They smoked in silence. Once Ray was done, he closed his eyes and leaned back on the chair. He felt Fletcher grabbing the hand he had on the table, holding it, moving his thumb against his fingers and then moving it up, kissing his knuckles. Ray smiled still with his eyes closed.

“Ray,” Fletcher called him, with a serious tone. Ray opened his eyes, turning to him, but still with his head leaning on the chair. “I promise I won’t betray you.”

Ray squeezed his hand. Then it was his turn to move Fletcher’s hand closer to him, so he could drop his own kiss on his knuckles.

“Good,” was his response. Then he moved so he could kiss Fletcher on the mouth. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” Fletcher repeated, kissing him again.

“You’re changing the sheets,” Ray said, smiling against his lips. Fletcher laughed.

“Whatever you want, Raymond. Whatever you want.”

Ray kept smiling and squeezed his hand. They’d be just fine.


End file.
